


The Joy of Jumping

by Severina



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Blogathon 2007
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-28
Updated: 2007-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-10 14:33:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One year and eleven visits later, Brian began to believe that Justin was really going to come home.  Someday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Joy of Jumping

**Author's Note:**

> Post Season Five  
> Written for Blogathon 2007

Brian had tried living at Britin for a grand total of three weeks before he went stark raving mad in the silence and told Jennifer to take the loft off the market.

Ted looked at the figures and determined that he could easily handle both properties as well as Kinnetik, especially since the loft was mortgage-free. Jennifer tossed the tear sheets in the air and muttered "Thank God" under her breath -- apparently one too many of her potential clients had asked for explicit details about _exactly_ what could be accomplished in the shower, and whether the infamous platform bed was included in the asking price. Michael was simply thrilled that Brian would be close by again, and invited him to one of Ben's tofu dinners before the moving men had even left. And for his part, Brian was just glad that he wouldn't have to travel several hundred miles -- or what felt like it -- when he ran out of papaya juice at three in the fucking morning.

The fact that he was wandering around Britin at three in the fucking morning because he missed Justin did not factor into the equation at all.

Then, five weeks into his move to New York, Justin came home to visit. Brian fucked him against the cold metal door, and again on all fours on the floor, and eventually they made it to the bed where he got the best blow job of his life (or at least in the last five weeks) and then he fucked him again. The next morning, he griped that Justin's unannounced visit had forced him to miss the Best Ass contest at Woody's. Justin merely smiled, and reminded him that he already _had_ the best ass, which was actually quite sore, and could Brian pleeeease get him some orange juice?

Brian grumbled the entire way to the fridge.

Then Justin came back for a second visit, and a third, and on the fourth they went back out to Britin and started planning renovations. On the seventh visit, they purchased a sofa for the sitting room, though Justin insisted that Brian would be regretting it once he finally got to New York and could see the George Smith store for himself.

One year and eleven visits later, Brian began to believe that Justin was really going to come home. Someday.

* * *

Someday turned out to be a Thursday.

Brian looked sharply up from his paperwork at the turn of the key in the door. He was across the room and greeting Justin with a kiss (which quickly turned into a grope, and a nibble, and a nudge) and Justin's jacket was half off and his own jeans were undone before he realized that the door was still gaping open and Justin's suitcases were spilling across the floor and into the hallway.

Brian pulled back and arched a brow. "Lot of luggage."

"Yup," Justin said.

"Staying for a week?" Brian asked dubiously, because there was a lot of luggage and then there was a LOT of luggage. And while he liked when Justin stayed for a week (or two), because that meant things like eating breakfast naked at the kitchen island and dancing at Babylon while a horde of jealous fags watched in envy and caramel cakes making an appearance in the cupboard, it also meant getting used to those things and, possibly, missing them when they're gone.

"Nope," Justin said. He kicked the last of the suitcases across the threshold and closed the door with a flourish. "I'm home."

Brian looked at him blankly.

"Home," Justin repeated. "You know… to stay."

Brian shook his head. "You're not home."

"Let's see. Pittsburgh? Check. Loft? Check." He grinned. "I appear to be home."

"You're not home," Brian repeated. He walked away, shaking his head. "How the fuck can you be home? You live in New York. You've got a career. I'm not going to let you--"

"Let me?" Justin interrupted. "Brian, you don't _let me_ do anything. I do what I want, when I want. In this particular instance, the _what I want_ is you, and the _when I want it_ is right now. So if you can just stop trying to micromanage my life for one moment, you'll figure out that I--"

Brian swooped down and kissed him, part confusion and part fear and part overwhelming, irresistible joy. Clutched him tight and felt that his heart would never stop racing.

Four months later, they officially moved into Britin.

* * *

It took three months to get used to the commute.

While 'the manor' (as Justin liked to call it, using his best Alfred the Butler impression -- Brian told him that the impression sucked donkey balls, but that just seemed to make Justin do it more frequently) wasn't really in West Virginia, despite Justin's hyperbole, it occasionally felt like it was. When traffic was for shit and the interstate was down to one lane and he was stuck behind a nearsighted granny doing 20, he might occasionally wish for the close proximity of the loft.

Then he remembered that the single sun drenched room that Justin was using for a studio at Britin was actually the same size as the entire loft.

And that Justin was home. To stay.

The commute wasn't so bad.

Still, twenty minutes later than expected and frazzled, all Brian was thinking about as he tugged off his tie at the door was a nice cold drink and a long, hard fuck.

He decided to go for the drink first.

"Justin, I'm home!" he called out as he made his way through the house. He was proud of himself that he didn't even cringe at saying that, anymore. Justin didn't greet him with a sickly sweet "Hello honey, dinner will be ready in five minutes" anymore, either. Apparently they'd both gotten used to sounding like an old married couple.

It worried Brian that this didn't worry him.

He shrugged out of his suit jacket, flung it toward the table, and snatched up a beer. Downed half the bottle where he stood, staring indifferently out the kitchen window.

That is, until Justin's disembodied head popped into view.

And then disappeared.

And again popped into view.

And disappeared.

Brian blinked. "What the fuck?"

He was out the side door in three long strides, and on the side lawn in ten seconds.

"No, seriously," he said loudly. "What the fuck?"

"Hey!" Justin yelled, mid-bounce. "I bought a trampoline!"

"I see that," Brian said. He looked down at his empty hand. In his rush to get outside, he must have left his beer on the counter. He was already beginning to regret it. "There's something I always meant to ask you before you forced me into this pseudo-marriage," Brian said. "Are you retarded?"

Justin laughed. "It's fun!" He bounced again. Brian had to admit that Justin himself, at least, looked very appealing on the damn thing. Arms stretched above his head, legs spread wide, hair flying, shirt twisted up so that his taut stomach was exposed…

"Try it!" Justin called out.

Brian came down to earth with a bang. Try it? Not likely. Even though Justin's cheeks were flushed and his eyes bright with excitement and--

Brian shook his head. Since sarcasm hadn't worked -- and really, he didn't know why he bothered with sarcasm anymore, it never worked with Justin -- he decided to try being reasonable. "Justin," he said evenly, "you're a respected artist in the midst of building a highly-regarded portfolio. You can't have a trampoline."

Justin dropped to the canvas and sat, cross-legged, at the edge of the platform. "Why not?"

Brian was flummoxed. "Because it's stupid?"

"Ha," Justin said. He got up and started bouncing, lightly, feet barely leaving the canvas. "It's awesome. It's great exercise and it's supposed to be a fabulous stress reducer. I'm going to come out here when I get blocked and bounce my troubles away."

"You're not ten," Brian said dismissively as he turned away. His beer was calling. And he wanted a hot shower to soothe away the tension in his shoulders and lower back, since clearly that long hard fuck was not soon to be forthcoming.

"Only in my heart," Justin called back.

When Brian turned to look before he went back inside, Justin was in mid somersault.

* * *

 

There was a thundershower three days later.

Justin was meeting with his agent in New York and, Brian told himself, he was merely being a good partner by taking care of Justin's things while he was away. Cleaning the leaves and broken branches off the fucking trampoline would earn him bonus points that could then be cashed in at a later date.

It had nothing to do with being bored and restless.

He swept off the leaves nearest the edge of the canvas. And then, he couldn't reach the pile of dead leaves that had gathered in the middle. Because Justin had to purchase the largest trampoline ever made.

He went up on his toes and stretched out with a broken tree branch. Nada.

So he _had_ to climb up on the thing.

He really had no choice.

It sprung back lightly under his weight as he carefully made his way to the centre of the canvas and started scooping up leaves. He nearly toppled over -- twice -- but managed to keep his balance. And then it became a challenge -- to stay on his feet whilst bending to scoop leaves and toss them over the side. And then he bounced just a little. A little more.

A little more.

He's not entirely sure when he ended up digging in his toes and springing up, but the breeze was cool on his face and he felt alive. Free.

Justin had never been happier to take an earlier flight. He turned away from the kitchen window with a grin, then slid out of his shoes and went to join Brian.

* * *

Later, after the bounces had turned to mid-air kisses and not-so-rhythmic grinding and, eventually, the canvas rippling beneath them and Justin riding him while he stared up at the pale blue sky, Brian said, "Tell anyone about this and I'll have to kill you."

Justin leaned over to place a loud smacking kiss on his lips, and smiled. "Your secret is safe with me."


End file.
